Alessa Gillespie Burned Novels & Stories

I drank until my stomach was perforated and nearly suffered alcohol poisoning, all for a single deal. I even once sped down the highway at 220 miles per hour to sign a contract, coming dangerously close to death. I was the one who pulled Sanders Technology back from the brink of collapse and drove it toward going public. Those ten years were full of hardships and sacrifices, and above all, they were for her. Time and again, I had believed I would dedicate my life to this company, and to her. I never thought I would leave today like this, with my heart dead and my soul in ruins.

I rushed forward, trying desperately to stomp out the fire. But I was already dead. There was nothing I could do. I watched in despair as my three daughters were dragged into death by Ken's madness. Ken sat quietly on the floor, staring at the photo of us on his phone. The fire crept up their bodies. Pain twisted Bianca's face, and the girls' expressions were filled with agony. Ken kept smiling the whole time. The flames grew higher and higher. The three girls lost consciousness first. Soon, only Bianca and Ken were left awake.

Without a glance back, he commanded, "Chop Jimmy up and feed him to the dogs. As for Lilyanne, strip her and send her to the red-light district. Once she has serviced 99 men, send the photographs to her husband. He'll know what to do." It was midnight by the time Derek got back to the estate. The fire in the basement had been put out, but the mercenaries reported that my body was nowhere to be found. Letting out a small sigh of relief, Derek dialed my number over and over. Yet, he did not get an answer. Just as he was about to make his 100th call attempt, his phone vibrated. He received a video recording of me being pushed into a fire pit. "Saving us some trouble, just like you wished."

The air was filled out with screams of women who were burning alive and others who were overwhelmed and trampled upon by the stampede. Azaela finally fell to the floor. All the hairs on her body had been burnt off, and some parts of her skeleton were exposed. She fell into a burning pile, and her final thoughts were a burning mess of regrets. I OPENED MY eyes slowly. The pain in my chest was numb and my shoulders were stiff. I raised my head and looked around. The place was empty except for a couple of women groaning on the floor. I saw some more burning bonfires than I remembered.

(Hannah’s POV) The smell of burnt wood and ash still lingered in the air as I stepped over the caution tape. The building had been nothing more than a quiet corner bookstore—one I’d passed dozens of times without much thought. Now, it was a skeleton of charred beams and shattered glass. I swallowed hard. Standing here, in the middle of what was once a thriving business, made everything feel more real. This wasn’t just a story; it was someone’s life in ruins.

I type, “ E x h i b i t a r t i d e a s ” I search for a place to match Jodie’s identity as an artist. Jodie Springer is a budding artist who got discovered earlier last year in a street in Italy. I personally saw her artwork before she even became famous. Actually, one of her pieces is in my apartment right now. So when I heard about her rising popularity, I immediately volunteered to hold her exhibition without checking my prior schedule. So here I am rushing things up.

He asked Giselle, like I was not sitting right there. Giselle dropped her fork and violently rolled her eyes at him. "Of course we should take her to the hospital and tell them that she got the burns from a bridge hanging over naked flames in the wizard kingdom." She replied dramatically. "How do you think that sounds?" She added, and he slowly returned to his food like a kid scolded by his mother. "Giselle, calm down," I whispered, and she sneered. "But it'll be too painful to let it heal on its own," he stated again.

Now I sound like a complete moron. She giggled and got up from the bed and sauntered sexily towards me, swishing her hips side to side like a temptress. She grabbed my hand and led me to the table where there was a bucket. In it was a bottle of Cristal champagne - might I add an expensive one to boot- nestled in between the crushed ice. She grabbed the bottle and popped the cork and the champagne oozed out spilling on the floor. She grabbed two flute glasses and poured one of each then handed me a glass.

Marcus The news hits before sunrise. One of Bainbridge’s record offices went up in smoke. Not a full building blaze, just a single storage unit, torched neat enough to look like bad wiring if you don’t know better. But Gillespie and I know. They’re scrubbing. I pace Jamie’s living room, phone clamped to my ear, listening to updates filter in. Each detail is a needle. Elena’s not slowing down. She’s accelerating, burning the trail behind her before the Bureau can catch up.

"Nat, it's all my fault. I never should've gone along with your mom. I should've let you out!" Mom stepped back in shock, but she still refused to admit fault. "No way! That door could be pushed open from the inside. How could she have been burned to death? "Right! The footage—surveillance footage can be faked! You all must've teamed up with that brat! Are you trying to scam us for money?" Seeing that she still refused to accept reality, Dad turned to her, his voice heavy with grief. "Enough! Nat died because of you!